Wild Bells to the Wild Sky

by Laurie McBain

  "You speak of this puppet show as if it were no more. Is there no longer any danger from it?"

  I haven't dealt with it. But now I must deal with Lily Christian. As long as she lives, she is a threat to us. My God, Basil seems determined to avenge his death, doesn't he?" Sir Raymond laughed bitterly. " 'Tis obvious, isn't it? He couldn't tell what he knew to the queen, so instead he amused the brats with a tale of betrayal and revenge. Oh, I would laugh if I were not the man who will hang if anyone else understands the moral of Basil Whitelaw's fable. Damn him! May he rot in hell!"

  "Why now? After all of this time. What is Lily Christian doing traveling with a group of vagabonds? I understood her to be at Highcross. Why has she left there? What are we going to do?"

  "I am grateful that you have finally seen fit to concern yourself. But you really do not want to know. You are too softhearted, my friend. I will deal with this threat. Why she left Highcross Court does not concern us. All that matters is that she is here, within my reach, and I will not fail this time. Soon, Lily Christian will die. And no one can save her now."

  Dawn had yet to break as Simon Whitelaw sent his horse galloping along the road. In his eagerness to reach Highcross Court, he threw caution to the winds.

  Lily and Dulcie and Tristram, of course, would be surprised to see him so soon after his last visit. He would tell them he had been in the vicinity and had suddenly realized how close to Highcross he'd been. How could he have passed, and he dreamed of Lily Christian, Simon Whitelaw rehearsed his excuse until it came easily to his tongue. This would be a visit he would not soon forget.

  All is not well;

  I doubt some foul play.

  SHAKESPEARE

  Chapter Nineteen

  "WHAT A MESS," Tristram said, raking his shoe through the rubble. "There's nothing left. What are we going to do now, Lily?" he asked, surveying the destruction of their booth. The fire that had raged the night before had burnt itself out by morning, leaving only smoldering ashes and a few charred pieces of wood.

  "Did everything burn up?" Dulcie asked, her eyes filling with tears. "All of our puppets died, Lily," she cried, thinking of the wild white horses that she had embroidered the harnesses for. "Poor Prince Basil. He was my favorite," she murmured. "It's just like on the island, isn't it, Lily?" she asked, unnecessarily reminding Lily of the hut where Basil had lain and that she had set aflame.

  Lily cleared her throat.

  "Lily?"

  "I don't know, Tristram," Lily said in a low voice, glancing away from his puzzled expression only to find suspicious, unpitying faces watching her. Lily lifted her chin proudly. But she was tired of having to decide what to do. With their puppet show destroyed, they had no way of earning their keep at the fair. They could still collect a few coins during the procession that opened the fair every day, but not enough. What they managed to make was shared with all of the performers. After being divided--and not always equally for there were those who'd been with the fair longer than others and demanded a larger share--there would not be enough even to buy food. Because of the success of the puppet show they had been able only recently to set a small sum aside for their journey to Maire Lester's. Once there, Lily had fully expected to pay their own way. Had they not been so desperate, she would have hesitated in seeking out Maire Lester, for she knew their old nurse was living with her widowed sister on sufferance.

  "I'd like to know how the fire started in the first place," Farley demanded, glancing around at those unfriendly faces surrounding them.

  "Ye been careless, maybe," someone commented.

  "Got what ye deserves."

  "Or, maybe what someone things we should be getting'?" Farley charged, meeting several of those glances accusingly. "Reckon there be some who've been jealous of us. Showed ye how to make some money for a change."

  "Should've burnt ye out long ago."

  "Yeah? Who said that?"

  "I did! But I didn't burn down your booth."

  "Trust you about as far as Fairfax could toss ye," Farley said hotly.

  "My own booth be too close by. Otherwise, I would've carried the torch and set it meself. And I would've admitted it, that proud of the deed I would've been! Maybe I been losin' customers to yer puppet show, but I didn't burn ye out."

  "I wish I had!" a low voice commented.

  "Come out and face me! Ye coward!" Fairfax yelled, stepping forward to glare at the suddenly quiet group. "Thought as much," he said, spitting at their feet.

  "Are ye sayin' we burned yer booth?" someone found the courage to demand, although he stayed well in the crowd and safely out of reach of Fairfax's fists.

  "Maybe we are, and maybe we aren't," Farley said.

  "Accusing each other isn't going to do any of us any good. We'll still have empty pockets by nightfall unless we get busy," Romney Lee advised. "It was probably a spark from the fireworks display that set it off. It has happened before," Romney Lee explained reasonably, trying to calm everyone's fears before things got out of hand. "All that has happened is that there will be no puppet show for a couple of weeks while we make new puppets."

  "So what do we do in the meantime? Starve?" Farley demanded, thinking Romney Lee had explained away their misfortune rather too glibly. He hadn't, however, explained why their booth and no other had caught fire. And the fireworks hadn't even been close, unless, Farley thought, casting a grim eye at the assembled knaves, someone had purposely placed a flaming candle in their booth.

  "Might be a good time fer some people to be goin' about their own way."

  "Could leave the fair before something worse happens," someone suggested.

  "Have ye forgotten what Old Maria's been predicting?" Navarre chimed in as she stepped to the front of the crowd, pleased with the growing discontent she was hearing amongst her friends.

  " 'Tis right, she has!"

  "Aye, been predictin' tragedy ever since Romney Lee brought them here.

  "Told us to beware the flames, or murder would follow."

  "Aye, we hold ye responsible, Rom."

  "Old Maria has been predicting misfortune for the last three years," Romney scoffed. "She does every time her other predictions don't come true. 'Tis easy enough to predict bad omens, since there is always something going wrong. Keeps us afraid of our own shadows and quick to believe in her and cross her palm with silver."

  "Ye be askin' fer trouble, Romney Lee."

  "Surprised I am to be hearin' yer mockin' voice, Romney Lee, and ye with gypsy blood in ye. Why, yer mam would be turnin' over in her grave to hear such talk."

  " 'Tis the girl, she's the one who has deceived ye. Not old Maria. Ask the old one what she saw, Romney Lee," Navarre baited him.

  "It doesn't matter what she thinks she saw," Romney told Navarre, the glint in his dark blue eyes causing Navarre to take a step closer to her uncle's side. "I say they stay."

  "And who said ye speak fer the rest o' us, Romney Lee?" Silver Jones demanded. "I, and a council of elders, have always made the decisions for this band. Seems to me Navarre is right, and ye've been misled by the girl. We all know she comes o' some highborn family. Ye think to better yerself by weddin' her, Rom? Think ye'd do better with the likes o' her rather than my Navarre? Ye be a fool, lad! That one is bad luck. Ye can see it in her eyes," he said with a superstitious crossing of himself as Lily glanced over at him.

  "You say throw them out? We've never made as much money in our processions until Lily Francisca rode Merry through the crowd. And their puppet show, that you all complain so heartily about, draws more of a crowd into the fair, and to our booths nearby, than we've ever seen before. And yet, because of some old hag's crazed talk and the gossip of a woman jealous of one more beautiful than she, you would take money out of your own pockets? You can't be that foolish, Silver Jones. You say you and the council speak for the rest of us? Then go, talk it over. And when you've cooler heads and can hear the jingling of money in your pockets, then tell me again to send them away. Are you going to let Nava
rre's jealous whisperings in your ear speak for the rest of us?" he challenged them

  "Aye, right he is, Silver."

  "She was run out of her village fer being a witch! She's cast a spell over him. Don't listen to him. Uncle Sil, don't . He's crazed fer her. Don't listen, I tell ye," Navaree cried out angrily.

  "Aye, we all know Navarre is angry 'cause Rom seeks his comfort elsewhere now," someone snickered, then yelped when Navarre's hand cuffed him a stinging blow on the side of his head.

  "Enough!" Silver Jones bellowed. "The fair opens in less than an hour. We've got the procession and our booths to set up. Get about yer business, ye thieves and sluggards! And I'd better be countin' all that I think I should afterwards," he warned, eyeing one family of performers with special interest. "I've heard talk some ain't sharin' like they should. Go on, now! Get about yer business. The council will be meetin' this evenin'. Ye'll have yer chance to speak before us, Rom. Then and only then, and by vote, do we decide what happens to Lily Francisca and the others," Silver Jones pronounced. "And don't ye be glarin' at me," he warned, slapping Navarre across the face as she muttered something.

  Wiping the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, Navarre sauntered over to where Lily was standing. "Ye'd do well to stay close to yer friends. No tellin' what accidents can happen at night if ye're up and about and wanderin' where ye shouldn't be," she warned, then laughed harshly as she eyed the mastiff. "Reckon we could get a pretty collar like this fer Rom's neck? This one's got him actin' as tame as some fine lady's pampered lap dog," she said. "Don't think he'd be man enough fer me now," she added as a parting shot, her smile turning seductive as she sidled up to a young man who had not been shy in his pursuit of her favors. "Now there's no doubt that he's a man," she said with a deep, throaty laugh as she moved her hip against him. "No doubt at all."

  Romney Lee flushed angrily as he heard the laughter of those who were still standing nearby, but Silver Jones sent them, and his niece, about their tasks as he roared his orders and raised a threatening fist at them. Shaking his leonine head of silver hair, he stomped off, but not before Romney Lee had seen the grin on his grizzled face and heard the low chuckle.

  "I'm sorry, Rom," Lily spoke beside him, her hand resting comfortingly on the bunched muscles of his arm. "We should do like they say and leave. We really do not belong here. Now that we no longer have the puppet show, we can't continue to travel with you. I would sell the oxen and give you half for the trouble we've caused you, except that we need them to reach Maire Lester's. After we're there, I'll sell them, then send you half. You have done enough for us, and what have you gotten in return? All we have ever brought you is misfortune. Old Maria is right We are bad luck, and not just for you. No one fares well when they become involved with us-with me," Lily added.

  "Don't say that, Lily Francisca. I don't want to hear any talk about you leaving the fair. This is where you belong. You have been happy here, haven't you?"

  "Yes, but it cannot continue. We've just been playing make-believe this summer, Rom. I've tried to pretend that all is well, but I can never forget that we left Hartwell Barclay dead at Highcross. The authorities are still searching for us, Rom. Perhaps it is time that I faced them, told them the truth," Lily said, not looking forward to having to defend herself before the good people of East Highford.

  "No!"

  "Rom, you must understand--"

  "I do understand, Lily Francisca. I understand far better than you. You would never have a chance with those villagers. They think you caused Hartwell Barclay's death. I know, I spoke with them in the village. Don't you remember? I went out to Highcross. I heard the cook talking to the authorities. I spoke with the stable hand. They had already found you guilty and had you hanging from the gallow's tree. Please, listen to me, Francisca. You must never try to return to Highcross."

  "For once I agree with him," Farley said. "Them villagers can hardly wait to try you for Hartwell Barclay's murder. Even your powerful relatives couldn't save you, Mistress Lily. Besides, ye'd never get the chance to get word to them. Like the gypsy says, ye'd be swingin' from the gallows, or burnt at the stake as a witch, before they could rescue ye. Listen to him, Mistress Lily."

  For the first time Romney Lee eyed Farley Odell with respect and even gratitude. "There! Farley Odell was born in that village. He knows them even better than I, Francisca. Would it be that bad to stay with the fair a little longer, at least until winter comes? We will manage well enough until we've made new puppets. Fairfax can continue to wrestle. I'll match him up with more opponents," Romney Lee said quickly, glancing over to the big man who nodded his agreement.

  "I can juggle," Tristram piped in eagerly.

  "That ye can, lad," Romney agreed.

  "I s'pose I could bake some cinnamon cakes," Tillie offered. "I'm afraid I won't be very good at sellin' them. Can't get through the fair very easily," she explained, glancing down at her rounded belly self-consciously.

  "By the time ye got down to the midway, recon there wouldn't be many left either, Tillie," Fairfax said with a chuckle.

  "Raphael and I can sell them," Dulcie cried excitedly, causing the mastiff to bark and sending Cappie into a somersault on his back. "I can dance with my tambourine like I do in the procession."

  Romney Lee grinned in satisfaction. "Yes, that would catch the customers' interest. But we must have a way of displaying our goods. We can harness the dog to a small cart filled with the cakes, and perhaps flowers and ribbons, whatever we can find. We will put the monkey and the parrot in the cart, too. They will amuse the customers and keep them entertained while they decide what to buy. But, while Sweet Rose is dancing, we must have someone watching the cart. Lily?"

  "Have I any choice?" she asked with a laugh, her spirits a bit higher.

  "No, I will never let you have a choice," he said.

  "How about me?" Farley demanded aggressively, for the gypsy wasted no time in getting things done, and usually just the way he wanted. He was the smooth-tongued one all right, Farley grumbled to himself, not liking to be maneuvered into doing something he wasn't certain he wished to do-whatever it was.

  For once Romney Lee didn't respond with his usual sarcasm. "I've been thinking that you might stroll through the crowd calling various booths to the people's attention. I would see that each booth contributed something for your efforts on their behalf. You could tell some of those amusin' stories of yours while you make your way along the midway, leavin' the end of the story, of course, 'til ye've reached the booths," Rom suggested helpfully.

  Farley grinned. "I can see that I've never underestimated ye, gypsy," he said, bowing to the other man. "If I was wearin' a hat, I'd take it off to ye, Romney Lee."

  "What is that?" Romney asked, noticing for the first time the object Lily was holding in her hands.

  "The witch," Lily said, holding up the only puppet that had survived the fire. The one blue eye and one brown eye painted on the ugly face glared up at her malevolently, and even though it was just a harmless puppet, Lily shivered. "Strange, but of all our puppets, this is the one I liked the least."

  "Well, at least that is one we won't have to worry about," Romney Lee said, gesturing for them to follow him. As they walked away, he glanced back at the charred remains of the booth. He frowned slightly, for he too had his suspicions about the fire.

  Simon Whitelaw rode up the narrow lane to Highcross Court. He couldn't quite stop his grin from widening boyishly as he anticipated walking into the great hall. It wasn't afternoon yet, so he'd be in time for lunch, he thought as his stomach rumbled hungrily.

  There were several horses, as well as a cart harnessed to a tired, old mare, in the courtyard. He didn't recognize any as belonging to the Highcross stables. Wondering who was visiting, Simon Whitelaw dismounted, glancing around for the groom, but no one came to assist him. The visitors had not come any great distance, for the horses were sweating only slightly and hadn't lathered up at all.

  Curious, Simon Whitelaw h
urried up the steps and knocked soundly on the great doors of Highcross. Schooling his expression into one of polite inquiry, he stared at the door that had yet to open and allow him access into the great hall. He tried again. But still no answer. Frowning, he was about to turn away when one of the doors swung wide and he found himself staring into the face of a stranger.

  "Yes?" the stern-visaged footman inquired haughtily, his expression seeming to indicate that he doubted that the dusty-booted young gentleman standing on the doorstep had any business at Highcross.

  "I am Simon Whitelaw."

  The man continued to stare at Simon expressionlessly. "Indeed?"

  "Yes! I've come to visit my sister, Dulcie, and Lily and Tristram Christian. Please inform your mistress of my presence," he told the man without any further attempt at gentlemanly behavior, for he'd not missed the strange look that had crossed the man's face when he'd mentioned Lily Christian's name. "Well?"

  The footman opened the door wider to allow Simon to enter. "If you will wait here, sir?" he said, gesturing vaguely toward the oak settle against the wall.

  Simon opened his mouth to protest, but the man had disappeared too quickly up the stairs. Simon tossed his hat onto the bench, but he'd be damned if he'd sit there like a good little boy. He stared about him, thinking the hall awfully quiet. He hadn't even heard Raphael's barking when he'd ridden into the courtyard. The dog had never stopped barking the last time he'd been here.

  Simon walked over to the stairs. He'd thought he had heard approaching footsteps, but all was quiet at the top of the stairs. With an impatient sigh, he sat down on one of the steps, his long legs stretched out to the floor. Hearing steps again, he popped up, frightening the young maid rounding the bottom of the stairs.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, sir," the maid apologized, abruptly stopping her singing. "Scared me half to death, ye did. Didn't know there was anyone in here," she said nervously.